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So he rolled her on top of him. Her thighs fell between his and her stomach ground against his erection, which was so good, his brain melted. No downside to this position that he could find. From this angle, the kiss got deeper still, and as a bonus, his hands were free to thread through her hair. The silkiness flowed over his fingers and he felt it in his blood. He couldn’t help circling his hips against her, automatically seeking more.
She moaned and shifted, igniting him with friction, and there was little chance he was going to be able to hold off much longer if she kept that up.
“Tilda, I need to be inside you. Is that—”
“It’s okay. I want that, too.”
There was literally no way to misinterpret that, so he went for broke and sheathed himself with a condom in what had to be the land speed record. She’d barely moved enough for his hands to have room to work, which meant a lot of touching of hot, wet parts. In an instant, she sank down on him, drawing him into the most bliss-filled joining imaginable—and he’d imagined this moment a lot.
It was far better than anything he’d conjured up in his suddenly feeble fantasies. She felt amazing, tight and, best of all, enthusiastic as she rolled her hips to find a rhythm she liked. This position had just shot to the top of his list. He groaned as she took him deeper, and let the sensations break over him.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You work me exactly the way you want.”
She blinked down at him, registering his words. Slowly, she changed the angle, experimenting with a new speed as her hair fell into her face in the sexiest of manes, and he nearly went blind as heat exploded through his midsection.
“You’re so gorgeous,” he told her, almost before realizing he’d spoken. What was going on with him tonight? Tilda had turned him into a talker in bed. Insanity. Only people who were intimate with each other talked, because it meant they had stuff to talk about. This was just sex, solely designed to give her some confidence.
“You think so?” she asked, but it wasn’t the coy question of a woman fishing for compliments. She was almost…shy. Asking for confirmation, even.
“Oh, yes.” He nudged his hips higher, doing some angle changing of his own to see what spots he could hit to get that expression of bliss on her face that he’d only glimpsed earlier. “When your hair is down around your face, you’re ethereal. Amazing. I love you being on top. The view from here is like staring into the face of heaven.”
Geez, next he’d be spouting poetry. But he couldn’t take it back, not when a smile bloomed on her face that was every bit the opposite of the angel he’d just likened her to.
“I like it, too. The view is pretty good from here for me, as well.” She put her hands on his chest and used him for leverage to increase her speed yet again, her eyelids drifting to half-mast as she gasped out his name.
When Tilda was in control of her pleasure, it was breathtaking. He wanted more and ground his thumb into her center. That was the magic button, apparently, because she threw her head back and rode him faster, hollowing him out with her sexy moans. After he’d spent what felt like an eternity clawing back his own release through sheer will, she finally closed around him with a strong pulsing ripple.
He let go with a cry, emptying himself in a release that eclipsed anything he’d ever known.
Tilda collapsed to his chest and his arms locked around her automatically. To keep her in place. That was his story, but in reality, he was holding on—because if he didn’t, he feared he’d float away in a haze of bliss.
And he didn’t miss the fact that she let him. She was amazing, putting herself out there despite her fears and blazing through to a brilliant finish.
She murmured nonsense phrases against his skin, or rather, his brain was too mushy to interpret something so complex as language, not when she’d just rearranged every one of his molecules into something different. Something he didn’t fully understand yet.
But he did know one thing. He’d lied to her earlier.
What was happening between them had everything to do with their marriage because they’d just consummated it. Brilliantly, no less. And he wasn’t done.
He cultivated distance to keep people from being hurt by his tendencies to be blunt and abrupt, but even that was a shield against his genuine desire to help when someone was hurting.
He’d dropped all his careful barriers to get Tilda to this point, which he didn’t regret, but it was going to be hell to put them back together.
But necessary.
That feeling in his chest? It was happiness. And he didn’t deserve that.
* * *
When Tilda woke up, there were arms around her and she had a moment of panic. She half pulled away and turned, but it was dark. She couldn’t see, and the panic escalated, pounding through her veins. The arms were holding her down. Forcing her to do something she didn’t want to.
